


old habits die hard

by mmacy



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmacy/pseuds/mmacy
Summary: even elizabeth has her bad habits...
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	old habits die hard

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot how much I like this story... definitely one of my favorites

Madam Secretary  
Old Habits Die Hard

~MS~

“The truth is, you don’t break a bad habit; you replace it with a good one.” -Denis Waitley

~MS~

She’d always been one to find herself in the midst of high stress situations. 

Henry would argue that one doesn’t simply find themselves wrapped up in situations that seem to raise one’s blood pressure each minute they remain situated in the mess; no, he would claim that she was the one who deliberately entangled herself in these unsolvable problems. 

Problems that she insisted she could solve just given some time. 

Problems that others willingly backed away from because they could clearly see the issues -the consequences- that the unfixable problem would ensue. 

She’d been called crazy countless times.

After two years at The Company she found herself associating the word with a positive connotation. 

If crazy was what they labeled her, so be it, because to her, it was a compliment. 

‘Ballsy Bess.’ They’d used to call her. 

She’d never been one to follow the rules, which ultimately was the reason why she often found herself tangled up in the most dangerous, yet most rewarding operations in the CIA. 

She’d stop at nothing; always found a way to fix the mess that their assets overseas created. 

Her lack of fear or rather her ability to compartmentalize her fear -along with having the tongue for Arabic- was why she, only after a mere year at the CIA, was placed on the Middle East desk. 

She had the brains, the guts, and the stomach to handle the volatile conditions that regularly presented themselves in the area.

Her colleagues often made comments about the hard calls she was forced to make, about the near-death experiences that she had no choice but to put their contacts across the globe through, but it always seemed to work out. 

They almost always got the bad guy. 

She endlessly waved off her friends’ good-humored remarks.

‘Attempting to get Max from the market to the helo five blocks away when they’re under heavy gunfire is, well it’s self-suicide, Bess!’ Isabelle fought. 

‘Infiltrating an asset into Vice Kings, one of the most unpredictable and impulsive gangs in Iraq.’ George snickered. ‘He’ll self-destruct.’ 

‘I saw your proposal about drawing back enhanced interrogation. Bess, what you’re writing is career sabotage.’ Juliet had told her. 

She always took her friends’ opinions into consideration, but she never mulled over them for too long; more than ninety percent of the time she was confident in her decisions. 

She depended on her own mind, her own opinions, and she trusted herself; her brother Will told her it was the consequence of growing up without parents. 

Only trusting yourself that is.

She almost always shook her head whenever he brought it up, knowing that she did in fact trust others; she just trusted herself more. 

They could call her crazy anytime they want, but she was okay being different; she fixed things. 

She solved the unsolvable.

Max made it the helicopter, almost completely unscathed. 

Their asset successfully brought down one of the top members of Vice Kings in record time.  
And that proposal she wrote that many people, including herself, believed would result in the loss of her job actually ended up with Conrad offering her the Baghdad Station Chief position.

But that was all a long time ago.

A world of pain away.

When she was much better at hiding her fear.

When she was certain who she could trust and who she couldn’t.

But the line of good vs. bad had become blurred somewhere in the midst of it all.

Political ambitions had presided over doing what is right.

That’s how she found herself here, head resting in her hands, as she read and then re-read sentence after sentence of the memo on her desk. 

She could blame the lack of focus on her long day.

Or the fact that it was 10:02 pm and she was still at The State Department.

But she’d had longer days at the office before.

More difficult days.

Days where she was forced to deal with the consequences of her actions.

But today, her desolation and her self-deprecation had her mind once again spiraling around the issue that she believed she’d faced and conquered in the recent past. 

Trust.

Who was worthy?

Who wasn’t?

She -for once- wasn’t confident in her own ability of handling this, for sure bigger than her, problem.

Of course, this isn’t just a problem.

This is murder.

This is terrorism.

This is an overthrowal of a government.

This is downright out of her league -she was out of her depth-, and she would be absolutely crazy to attempt to tackle this.

Crazy.

A word that she used to take pride in, but now… now she didn’t have the strength and power of an entire intelligence agency to fall back on.

Now she didn’t even have the choice to not listen to the opinions being spewed at her during her lunchbreak. 

She needed help, but the problem was she didn’t know who to turn to.

Who to trust?

George is dead.

Murdered.

Single car collision, her ass. 

He’d showed up on her doorstep in the middle of the night, begging, pleading for her to watch her back.

He knew too much.

She’d seen nearly everything during her time with the CIA; she knew a set up when she saw one.

But she desperately needed someone else’s opinion. 

And the person she would usually turn to, the person who she had looked up to, was at the very top of her list.  
That is, a list of possible suspects.

Her boss, her oldest friend, may be responsible for killing one of their closest friends, killing her predecessor, and oh yeah, may be plotting the assassination of a foreign dignitary.

Elizabeth slammed the binder that contained a briefing about some forest across the globe shut; it was useless to continue ‘reading’ when she could barely get through the first sentence. 

She huffed, letting out the undeniable frustration that had been building and building within her for the past month, nearly threatening to boil over the surface. 

She was at her wits end, balancing between completely giving up and quitting this job, or putting on her big girl pants and getting to the bottom of this ordeal before something else -something worse- happened. 

She picked up the tumbler that was previously sitting on the plastic coaster on the top of her desk; she let her fingers gently tap against the side of the cup before bringing the glass up to her lips, taking a swig of the amber liquid. 

It was tempting to stand up, walk out of here, and never look back. 

They could move back to the farm, retire early, and forget DC altogether. 

Then her mind wandered, wondering if they’d find her car ran up a pole, just as they did George. 

Did she know too much?

Her fingers brushed through her hair, gripping at the roots, before falling to massage her temples; she’d hoped the alcohol would help undo some of the knots in her neck, take away some of the pain in her pounding head, and release some of the tension in her tight shoulders, but the scotch didn’t seem to be strong enough. 

“Blake!” She called, deciding to forgo the intercom, being as her office door was already open. 

He appeared in the doorway to her office in no more than a few seconds. “Yes ma’am?” He questioned, ready to obey her request at the snap of her fingers. 

She felt bad for the young man; his eyes were tired, and his suit was rumpled. He was clearly out of sorts, and with this being the fourth night in a row of staying late at the office, she knew -although barely noticeable- his state of uncharacteristic behavior was her doing. 

Early in the evening she’d pleaded with him to go home, but he’d waved off her request, saying ‘If you’re here, I’m here ma’am.’ 

She’d smiled at his loyalty, his renown duty to his job. 

She’d briefly considered telling him her suspicions about The President, spilling the beans that Vincent Marsh’s death wasn’t an accident, but she’d reframed; he’d be panicked, restless, and wouldn’t sleep a wink. She couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t let someone else in on the secret to simply ease her own mind of being the only one at The State Department -except Nadine- to carry this heavy weight on her shoulders. 

“Ma’am?” He’d questioned again; she must have remained quiet a moment too long for his liking. 

She swallowed heavily, and then said, “I need a favor.” 

~MS~

She’d finally walked through the front door at 12:23, but of course, she’d arrived about twenty minutes prior; she sat on the step of their front porch, prolonging not entering the house. 

The truth was she was avoiding her husband, not wanting him to know what she’d been up to before arriving home.

Matt had flashed her an odd look when instead of immediately walking inside her home -like she usually does- she sat down on the concrete. She knew they probably thought she was ridiculous for staying outside, but she needed just a bit more time alone.

After he had eventually asked, ‘is everything alright ma’am?’ she’d faked her best smile and bided her detail a good night before swiftly going inside.

She’d climbed the front staircase slowly, ignoring the ever-present ache in her shoulders and legs. 

She sighed as she reached their bedroom, not fully prepared for his imminent judgement, but she knew it was well deserved. 

She quietly pushed the door open, hoping he was still awake just so she could see his comforting brown orbs, but in the back of her head, she wanted him to already be asleep so she could avoid the looming conversation.

His eyes instantly met hers when she stepped out of the dark hallway and into their bedroom. 

She smiled; he waited up for her. 

“You’re awake.” She stated the obvious; her small smile still graced her face, attempting to hide her tiredness, her pain, and her worry.

His lips upturned ever so softly as he clapped the book he’d been reading shut. 

“I wanted to see you.” He admitted, voice husky, prickling with the need for sleep. 

She sighed, chest nearly completely deflating from the stress that had built up over the course of the day. 

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to cry.

And the way the bedside lamp casted a yellowy glow upon his face made his arms -his embrace- look much more inviting than the prospect of going back downstairs and continuing to work. 

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, weighing her options. 

Wanting her mind to somehow tell her that putting what she wanted over solving the crisis that was currently unfolding was okay.

Although half of her -the half who watched the towers come crumbling down thirteen years ago, the half who was coated in ash and debris after the bomb went off in Oklahoma, and the half who’d witnessed the deaths of colleagues, and friends when two harmless looking men walked into a market– screamed no, she was human.

She gave in.  
With a huff, she threw her briefcase to her right -the bag hit the bench at the end of their bed before falling to the floor with a loud thud- and then immediately found herself making a beeline to her husband.

She fell into his lap, and instantly placed her palms on his cheeks before bringing their lips together in a bruising kiss.

She prayed -something her husband fully believed in, but she still wasn’t too sure in what power, what good, the act brought- for the comfort his touch usually brought. 

She needed him.

She wanted his care and his love to work through her aching muscles and slowly dissipate the anxiety that floated around inside her head and the pent-up stress in her body.

She wanted to forget. 

She wanted… but he pushed her away.

With his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her backwards, just far enough that she could see his entire face. 

He gazed into her eyes and tilted his head a fraction, throwing her a quizzical stare.

Her stomach turned. 

Did he know?

She’d always been good at putting up a front.

Hiding things; it was part of her old job.

Part of her.

But he always had some sort of way of reading her like no one else ever could.

Did her eyes have some sort of tell?

Could he see the way her lips twitched ever so slightly; it was always a telltale sign of her mind going a mile a minute.

Did he smell it on her clothes? 

This is what she wanted to avoid; the sure to be discussion that would follow once he found out. 

“Talk to me.” He demanded softly as his thumb gently brushed against her cheek.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion; maybe he didn’t know after all. 

“What, I can’t kiss my husband after a long day?” 

Deflect. Deflect. Deflect. 

She was known for it.

“Elizabeth.” He warned. 

She huffed. “I want to sleep.” She admitted, staring into his eyes, begging for help, but unfortunately being unable to verbally ask for it. “I want to really sleep, Henry.” She added. 

He nodded, but his expression still read confusion. 

He searched her face for some clue that he may have missed before, but his eyes met hers, coming up empty. 

Maybe he wasn’t so good at reading her after all. 

“Then let’s sleep.” He whispered.

~MS~  
5:03 am

She pulled her sweater further up her shoulders due to the shiver that ran up her spine after a particularly strong gust of wind rushed in through the window. 

This was one of her favorite spots in the entire house.

Their favorite spot.

They often found themselves, arms wrapped around one another, her back pressed against his chest, lounging together on the window seat. 

But even without Henry sitting behind her, there was just something about watching the grey clouds pass over the moon.

Watching as the dark sky faded into the morning. 

As the pale-yellow light began to illuminate the streets of Georgetown. 

It was refreshing.

Quiet.

It was her time to just be.

To think.

She’d always been a night owl; staying up well past the point when everyone else retired to their bedrooms.

But typically, not this late.

She wasn’t young anymore.

This wasn’t some god forbidden day when she and her colleagues were hoped up on caffeine determined to stay just ten more minutes to get to the bottom of some high-profile case.

Ten minutes would turn to thirty, which would quickly turn to sixty. The next thing they knew they hadn’t been home in four days; hadn’t slept in two.

Because well, they had to be there; if they weren’t people would die. 

But the days of no sleep were well behind her… at least that’s what she believed before taking this job.

Before Henry sat waiting in her office to tell her that George was dead.

Before she knew that Vincent Marsh’s plane crash was foul play.

Before she suspected that The President of the United States was somehow orchestrating the overthrow of the Iranian government. 

She’d called Isabelle about twenty minutes after Henry’s light snores finally turned into deep breaths; she was anxious awaiting what information she would be able to dig up on John Castellano.

This was anything but a peaceful night perched upon the windowsill. 

She was stressed.

She was overwhelmed.

And she was scared.

With her hand in her head, and her elbow leaning against the ledge of the window, she brought the cigarette that was stuck between her middle and pointer fingers up to her lips and inhaled deeply. 

With each draw of the cigarette -each breath that her lungs were wrapped tightly in a warm embrace- she could feel the stress melt away from her body.

She let out a puff of air, watching as the smoke was swept away towards the sky by another strong gust of wind.

She chuckled.

God if Fred and Matt could see her now, they’d throw a fit about her having the window open.

She shook her head, bringing the cigarette up to her lips again.

Her head became dizzy, seemingly starving herself of more oxygen than she probably should; she coughed after holding her breathe for a little too long. 

She exhaled, and once again watched as the cloud of smoke dispersed into the air just outside the window.

Just as she flicked her thumb against the burning cardboard, an unexpected hand on her left shoulder caused her to almost jump out of her own skin. 

The cigarette dropped from the hold of her fingers, hitting the back of her left hand -successfully burning her skin- and bounced off the outer ledge of the window before falling two stories to the ground. 

“Fuck.” She muttered, rubbing the red spot on her hand before immediately sticking her head out the window. 

“Henry.” She complained, as she stared at the cigarette that now rested on the sidewalk near the front of their house. 

“That’s what you get for smoking.” He criticized. 

She sighed, turning her gaze to the floor; unable to meet his eyes, knowing her heart would instantly fill with guilt upon seeing the condemnation in his stare. 

“You didn’t think I knew?” He asked; voice a bit softer compared to his first comment. “I could taste it on your breath.” He added.

He swallowed hard -probably from frustration- as he motioned for her to scoot over. 

She obeyed, and shifted her body to the right, allowing him to sit beside her. 

“I know that you know the saying of ‘old habits die hard’, but Elizabeth, this particular habit could kill you.” 

“It’s not a habit.” She fought. “I hadn’t smoked in thirteen years, and six before those thirteen.” She defended. 

“That may be, but do you remember the last time it happened?” He asked, but he must have not expected a reply because he answered his own question. “You instantly fell into a pattern, Elizabeth.” 

“I get it!” She yelled, as her head whipped up; her eyes frantically met his. 

Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides as she took in a deep breath of air.

“I know it’s bad for me.” She admitted. “Awful, actually.” She mumbled, correcting her statement. “But I’m not like you, Henry. I don’t know how…” She trailed off; she wasn’t exactly sure to put into words what she was feeling.

She shook her head, looking off to the right.

“Hey.” Henry said sympathetically, as he grabbed her hand with his. 

Her gaze flashed back to his.

“I know you’re stressed, and with everything that’s going on right now you have every right to be.” He began.

“But?” She whispered, knowing there had to be something else; some repatriation of her careless decision. 

“But smoking isn’t a solution.” He finished. “It won’t solve anything. The only thing it will do is create more problems.” He said, rubbing his thumb in a comforting motion against the backside of her hand.

She ducked her head -embarrassed- knowing her impulse decision was wrong and he was right; she knew better. 

She looked up at his face when he squeezed her right hand; he motioned for her to turn and lean against his chest.

She immediately did so, craving his touch.

His hold.

His warm embrace.

“Now, whenever you’re at the office, or you’re home and I’m not, or your off jet-setting to some country across globe…” She chuckled at the last bit. “Or wherever you are, you call me.” He instructed. 

He wrapped an arm around her middle, bringing her body flush against his. 

“When your mind won’t turn off, and you get the urge to reach for a cigarette, you call me, and I can talk, or you can talk, or we can sit in silence together.” He said. “You make me your habit.” He whispered, before placing a kiss onto her temple. 

“I love you.” She muttered, as she grabbed his hand that rested on her stomach and intertwined their fingers. 

“And I love you.” He whispered against her ear before softly kissing her cheek.  
Elizabeth leaned back contently, enjoying the comfort her husband’s presence provided, as she gazed out the still open window at the almost eerie looking streetlamps; it was going to be a very foggy morning. 

“So, where’d you get them?” Henry teased, squeezing her middle.

She lightly chuckled. 

“I had Blake run to a corner store.” She admitted. “Now don’t give him crap. I had to practically force him to go.” She immediately added, knowing he frequently chatted with her assistant. 

“That’s bull.” He said firmly. “He’d do anything and everything for you if you just ask.” He said.

She remained quiet, knowing that it was true. 

“You’re gonna fix this babe.” He told her, almost knowing when her mind was about to start to wander off; when her worry was on the brink of taking over.

“What if I don’t?” 

Her voice was quiet, barely there; scared to even voice the undeniable concern rooted in the pit of her stomach. 

“Well if I recall correctly, you have this habit of catching the bad guy.” He said softly. “And you don’t have to do it alone. You have Isabelle. And Nadine. And you have me.” He reminded. 

She sighed.

“Thank you.” She mumbled. 

That’s all she had the strength to say at this point.

It’s what she needed to hear.

‘You’re not alone.’

He reminded her that she could always trust him.

She would always have him.

She guessed it was another one of her bad habits.

Trust.

Or rather failing or forgetting that you can trust others. 

Especially him.

Especially Henry.

She snuggled into his chest, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. 

Maybe it was a peaceful night perched upon the windowsill after all. 

Or hopefully it would be soon. 

AN: Hey guys, I hope you’re all staying healthy and safe during quarantine. Taking courses online is no joke! And I swear the professors are giving us even more than we’d be doing in person… but I like being home with my family (sometimes). I’ve been having a hard time with writers block with my other story, so I decided to write something else to get my mind off of the other story for a bit. This was the result. This is set somewhere around So It Goes. This story really wasn’t supposed to be so pre-Iran (ish) but it ended up that way. This was actually inspired by House of Cards. If anyone else watches that show, you’ll know how Frank and Claire sit and share a cigarette by the window at night. Yep this story involving the two most kindhearted characters came from (in my opinion) two characters that are um the exact opposite of H and E. And yes I know E would probably never smoke (she’s too smart to cause that much harm to her body) but well that’s why this is fiction. I hope you enjoyed! Review if you’re willing; I always love to hear what you think. And if you ever want to chat or have questions about anything I write, please PM me! I hope this makes your day a bit better :)


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